Millions of sense, on which the country runs,
Thrown mindlessly into the register,
As meaningless as the blank robot faces
Making their routine stop

They feed their trained starving mouths
Filled and spilled with empty substance
Chemicals mixed to send shock to
Molded wired brains

Hm, black suit today.. It reeks of death
Black suits and briefcases stinking up
The stale space between the four walls,
That lock them in tighter than their own minds,
But not strong enough to mask the stale burnt beans

Mask, masked faces, painted smiles,
tired, tired eyes
Leave
Their pockets that much emptier.